


Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

by leonidaslion



Series: Don't Talk To Strangers [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dark Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not interested in being ambushed by his brother again ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

Dean scrambled underneath Bobby’s porch as dawn began to seep into the air; the faint light was already uncomfortable against his sensitive skin. It was filthy under the porch and it was going to be hot once the sun crested the horizon, but he couldn’t deny that it was ideal for his purposes. There was no way that he was going to try hiding inside the house itself—he wasn’t suicidal—but he needed to know what Sam was planning: where he was headed next. He couldn’t let his little brother get the drop on him again.

As fun as last night had been, things could easily have turned nasty in Bobby’s kitchen. Dean hadn’t completely adjusted to his new strength and abilities yet; caught between two experienced hunters, he could very well have ended up pinned against the floor while Sam poured a bottle of dead man’s blood down his throat. He dug his fingers into the earth savagely at the thought of being trapped like that. Of Sam trying to muzzle and neuter him like he was a feral dog.

“I’ll cut my own head off first,” Dean muttered, rolling onto his back and folding his hands behind his head. Although it certainly wouldn’t come to that. Sam had been his since he was sixth months old, and he would be again. It was just a matter of careful planning and preparation. Of making sure that the same blood was flowing through their veins once more.

His stomach rumbled at the thought of drinking Sam down. His brother had interrupted his meal last night, and Dean was really fucking hungry. Sam would taste good, too, when Dean finally got his hands on him: all that guilt and fear would give his _(our)_ blood a special kick.

 _Not yet,_ he reminded himself as his new teeth gave a painful twinge and edged out on their own. _He’s not ready yet._

As disappointing as that was, Dean knew it was nothing less than the truth. Right now Sam was fighting him tooth and nail. Knowing how goddamned stubborn his brother was, Dean had to face the very real possibility that if he tried to take him now Sam would figure out some way to weasel out of what had to be. Would manage to kill himself before Dean brought him to his senses.

And wouldn’t _that_ be the biggest fucking waste ever. Immortality had its perks, sure, but it would be boring as all fuck without his brother by his side.

No, Dean had to be patient: needed to soften Sam up a little first. Pick off a few of Sam’s acquaintances: see if he couldn’t get his brother to pony up to save some lives. And that particular task would be easier to accomplish if he could be sure that Sam wasn’t going to keep popping up to play knight in shining armor.

Heavy feet stomped up the steps and across the boards over Dean’s head and he smirked to himself as he scented a sour, frustrated sorrow. Well, well, well. Speak of the damsel in distress.

Dean’s gums ached with hunger as he listened to Bobby fumbling the front door open. He was tempted to crawl back out and finish what he’d started last night. He’d get a little sunburned: so what? Wasn’t like it’d kill him or anything.

But Sam was out there somewhere, and probably giving up the chase in the face of the new day just as Bobby had. He might show up at an inopportune moment and catch Dean with his hand in the cookie jar.

With a snort of annoyance, Dean turned his head to one side and breathed in the unappetizing scent of whatever rodent had died under here last week. It smelled really fucking foul, but it quenched the pounding _want_ so it served its purpose.

He hadn’t come back here for an early morning snack, anyway. He’d come back to listen in on what his frustrating little brother was planning. To eavesdrop on Sammy’s next destination. Kid knew people all over the country: chances were that Dean could find himself a suitable target in the opposite direction. Could finally get a few steps ahead of Sam.

“Goddamn it, Dean,” Bobby cursed under his breath from what sounded like the living room. A slow smile spread across Dean’s lips. These heightened vamp senses were awesome. He was going to be able to hear _everything_ from here.

Humming to himself softly, Dean closed his eyes and settled in for a quick nap; if he knew his brother, Sam was going to want a shower when he got back. And then he’d mope around for a while, whining about how he hadn’t been able to protect Dean, how he should have found him quicker, blah blah blah. Dean had a few hours before anything pertinent would be discussed, and he wasn’t going to waste them when he could be resting up.

He had a feeling that he had a big night ahead of him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 _He’s drunk off his ass—drunker than he should be from two beers, which means that the bitch he’s been chatting up slipped him something. Doesn't anyone have any morals anymore? It isn’t like he wasn’t already planning on taking her home and having a whole lot of fun. Well, Viki’s enthusiasm has screwed up that particular plan. No way in hell is Dean going home with someone who just roofied him._

 _He pushes his glass away and stands up, ignoring the soft flutter of the bitch’s hand on his arm. “‘M leavin,” he mutters through a mouth that feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Watching his feet carefully to make sure the floor doesn’t slide out from under him, he adds, “Now take your drugs and fuck off ‘fore I call the cops on your ass.”_

 _She’s cowed enough by the threat that she doesn’t try to argue with him as he staggers outside to call his brother. Sam will come and pick him up, and then he can sleep it off and everything will be fine. He’s gonna have to keep a better eye on his drinks from now on, though._

 _“Sammy?” he says as soon as Sam picks up._

 _“Hey, man.” Sam’s voice is full of that familiar exasperation it always holds when Dean needs to blow off a little steam. “You gonna be back in time to leave by nine tomorrow morning?”_

 _“Not going anywhere. Bitch drugged me; need you to pick me up.” He hopes Sam got all that because it sounded like mushy oatmeal coming out of his mouth._

 _“_ What? _” Sam blurts, voice tight with alarm. “I’ll be right there. Just don’t—”_

 _But Dean never finds out what he’s not supposed to do because a slender body presses up behind him, and a slim hand takes the phone away from him. He sways a little and an arm around his chest holds him up._

 _“Dean’s not here right now,” he hears Viki trill. “But Kate sends her regards.” Then there’s a thud as she tosses his cell to the ground._

 _“Get off,” Dean mumbles, pushing at her, but the world is tilting on him, and all of a sudden he feels really, really tired._

 _“Just let it take you,” Viki purrs. Her breath is warm on the shell of his ear, and then there’s a sharp stinging sensation. She_ bit _him, the freaky bitch. She bit his fucking_ ear _and now she’s sucking on the wound, and … and oh shit._

 __Kate. __

 _Dean tries to redouble his struggles, but the bitch—the_ vamp _—just tightens her grip and in a few moments, his eyes roll back in his head as he loses his feeble grasp on consciousness._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean woke from that dream _(memory?)_ to an enticing and very familiar scent drifting down through the floorboards to him. _Sammy,_ he thought, stirring. As though Dean had summoned him, he heard his brother’s voice.

“… gonna work, Bobby.” Sam sounded angry, but Dean could taste his desperation. Heady stuff, that.

“I’m just saying that you need to be careful. That’s not Dean anymore, no matter how much you—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sam demanded. “But I can’t—if there’s even a chance that I can get him back, then I have to try.”

Dean yawned; from the sound of things, the two hunters were starting to get down to business. He’d woken up just in time. Someone out there must love him.

“Do you even _care_ how dangerous he is?” Bobby pressed. “Last time a vamp turned a hunter, it took nearly three years and a dozen men to hunt him down, and he wasn’t nearly as good as Dean. If your brother gets it into his head to put together some kind of undead army—or, God forbid, makes a deal with a demon—then we’re gonna be up to our asses in corpses.”

 _Oh, please,_ Dean thought, sneering slightly. _As if I need the help._ He stretched lazily. Once Sam was back where he belonged, Bobby would see how much he’d underestimated John Winchester’s boys. Well, he would if he managed to live that long.

“I’m not taking any chances,” Sam said softly. “I know that if I screw this up, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Damn it, Sam!” Bobby swore, and there was a thud—probably Bobby’s fist on the kitchen table. “Don’t throw your life away like this. That goddamned ‘cure’ is nothing but a myth, and you—”

“You can’t stop me.”

A sigh. “God save me from stubborn Winchesters,” Bobby muttered, and then, louder: “Fine. If you’re going to do this, then I’m coming with you.”

“No. I need you to make some phone calls.” The muted rustling of something sliding across the table filtered down to Dean and he blinked up at the floorboards. “Dean’s not stupid,” Sam continued, “So I’m pretty sure he’ll try to hit me indirectly—try to distract me while he ... Anyway, I want you to contact everyone in there and make sure they know what’s going on.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“These can’t all be hunters, Sam,” Bobby said, with an accompanying sound of shifting paper. The man was thumbing through what had to be their address book. Damn it. Why did Sam have to be so fucking smart all the time?

“They’re our friends—Dean’s and mine,” Sam explained. “Tell them anything that’ll get them to take you seriously: that’ll make them take _Dean_ seriously. I can’t be everywhere at once.”

No, he couldn’t. Bobby could say anything he wanted to the people in that address book. All the warnings in the world wouldn’t do shit if they never knew he was there. A bullet to the back of the head wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as an up close kill, but they’d be just as dead. And every death would put Sammy that much closer to accepting what was going to happen.

Dean permitted himself a smug smile. His brother was only deluding himself if he thought that he actually had a say in the matter.

“I already called Ellen and Jo,” Sam added, “So they should be ready if he shows up.”

Bobby started blathering on about Dean’s old girlfriends and hook ups, as if any of them mattered. Dean had bigger fish to fry, the most important of which was a mere seven feet away, smelling of despair and frustration and something even tastier that was pure _Sam_.

Jo, though … Jo was a possibility that Dean hadn’t considered. He hadn’t been all that interested in her before, despite the blatant ‘come fuck me now’ signals that she had sent his way. She’d been too young: too perky. More a little sister than a potential screw. Now, however …

Well, didn’t they say that veal was a delicacy?

Even better, Sam liked her. Sam felt _responsible_ for her: had ever since Meg had taken his body for a joyride. This was too perfect. Now if only Sam would cooperate by taking himself and his dead man’s blood elsewhere …

“And while I’m letting my fingers do the walking, where’re you gonna be?” Bobby grunted, and Dean stilled in anticipation.

“I thought I’d go put some protections up around Cassie’s house. She’s high risk, and she knows what we do so she won’t have a problem with it.”

Dean grinned suddenly in the dim closeness of his hiding place. He _had_ been planning on visiting the bitch, but Sam was going to be riding shotgun when he did it. The two of them would take their time with Cassie: hell, they could paint the whole fucking town red while they were at it.

Right now he wanted something a little more ... _tender_.


End file.
